Chapter 1

Acting on a piece of advice, Cha Gyuhan decided to try his hand at keeping a diary.

He was a man who had never written a single journal entry in his life, not even for those routine school holiday assignments. Possessing an excess of physical stamina, Gyuhan had simply taken the corporal punishment and called it a day. From early childhood, he had grasped a fundamental truth. If your body is in prime condition, your brain never has to suffer.

Perhaps because of that, Gyuhan harbored a pitiful lack of interest in intellectual pursuits. Just as he had realized early on, most problems in life could be solved with physical force. Unlike his younger brother, who spent his days quietly puttering around making little crafts, engrossed in books and animated shows, Gyuhan had spent his entire life running wild outdoors. He was the type who felt a sense of fulfillment only when he began and ended each day drenched in sweat.

And now, a man like him was writing a diary.

Staring down at the pristine blank sheet of paper, Gyuhan clutched his head in both hands. Diligently tracing tight circles with a Monami pen to collect thick blobs of ink on its tip, he looked the very picture of a daydreaming student killing time in class.

A diary, of all things.

In the end, Gyuhan started by jotting down the date. Next to it, he added the weather. Since today was clear and sunny, he drew a sun—sketching a spiraling circle and packing its perimeter with dense, wavy squiggles. Another glob of sticky ink quickly formed on the nib.

“Haaah. What a load of bullshit.”

The profanity muttered in misery had no specific target. He might have been talking to himself, or to the person who had suggested this in the first place, or to the one who had driven him to brood enough to attempt it.

“How the hell is this supposed to help?”

Gyuhan gave his head a vigorous shake, then straightened his posture once more. Having nothing to say, he wrote down that today was Tuesday. His penmanship was lamentably atrocious. While not comically childish like an elementary schooler’s, it certainly fell far short of neat. It couldn’t be helped; though Gyuhan’s biceps and triceps were exceptionally developed, his finger muscles were so estranged from pushing a pen that he lacked even a trace of a callus on his middle finger. Pumping iron was second nature, but slinging ink was a foreign concept.

“Did that bastard feed me another lie?” Gyuhan muttered.

If something in life was currently going off the rails—especially when trouble brewed in a relationship—the obvious first step was to look back on what had transpired between both parties. To be precise, one needed to recall any personal mistakes and examine whether it was a genuine fault or a simple misunderstanding. If you can’t remember, try writing it down. Stimulate the hippocampus through fine motor muscles…

That had been the advice he found on the internet. Gyuhan had broadly interpreted the instruction to “write it down” as keeping a diary.

Gyuhan carefully retraced his memories, starting with the most recent moments.

Crossing his arms, he shut his eyes as though entering deep meditation.

For dinner… he had eaten jjimdak. It had a spicy soy-sauce flavor, and whether they had pan-fried the rice cakes beforehand or not, the exterior was pleasantly crisp while the inside remained chewy and delicious. Before that, while drinking coffee, he had eaten traditional market donuts and twisted kkwabaegi[1] that Secretary Kim had been craving… Ah, he had an early morning meeting, so he ended up working out during lunch. No wonder he had felt so ravenous. And before that meeting… for breakfast, he had boiled eggs with coffee…

“…”

Gyuhan opened his eyes in the quiet room and muttered, “All I can remember is what the fuck I ate.”

Without a single blunder to shrink back from, no flare of temper, no hurt feelings, and not a single unfair grievance, everything had been delicious, pleasant, and completely ordinary.

Reviewing today, yesterday, and the day before, Gyuhan watched his diary degenerate into a dietary log, scratched his head, and stepped out. His destination was a bar he had become a regular at, drawn by the surprisingly large number of solo patrons. Sitting at his usual spot, idly fiddling with his car keys while silently staring into the faux candlelight flickering on the table, Gyuhan radiated a cool, austere aura. It was all thanks to his intimidating features.

My head hurts.

Yet contrary to his brooding exterior, he was neither lost in profound contemplation nor drowning in melancholy solitude.

Guess I thought too much for the first time in a while. People who keep diaries are incredible.

Having attempted to keep a diary for the first time in his life, Gyuhan felt genuine admiration for anyone capable of chronicling their days.

Presently, his drink arrived. Gyuhan glanced toward the server’s hands—fixating not on the handsome glass held in the right, but on the complimentary side dish held in the left. The reason this place had become his regular haunt was twenty percent due to the quiet atmosphere provided by solo drinkers, and eighty percent due to that snack. The thinly sliced sweet potato, fried to a golden crisp and lightly dusted with coarse sugar, was insanely delicious.

To begin with, Gyuhan was hardly a heavy drinker. Contrary to his rugged appearance, he had a low tolerance for alcohol, and to be perfectly honest, he genuinely disliked whisky. That celebrated oak flavor tasted like nothing more than sucking on a piece of bland, dry cork.

Even so, he chose whisky on the rocks once again. He felt a swell of pride at steadfastly sticking to his austere choice, even though a sweet cocktail had caught his eye. In Gyuhan’s mind, a grown man putting on pretentious airs without having anything to back it up was pathetic, but he possessed every other qualification in spades. If a man went through life without cultivating a bit of style, that was even more disgraceful, which made tolerating the faint scent of damp wood mold a small price to pay.

As he sat nursing his glass, several patrons drifted past his table. Since solo guests were common here, requests to share a booth occurred frequently, with most suitors making surprisingly bold advances.

The frequent solicitations played no part in his loyalty to the establishment, though he did find the setup convenient. It was a fine spot whenever he wanted to indulge in quiet reflection and feel satisfied with himself, and useful whenever he needed to locate someone. He remained utterly oblivious to the fact that people visited this specific bar for the explicit purpose of picking each other up.

“Can’t leave a guy alone for a second,” Gyuhan muttered, shaking his head after turning down a few more propositions.

The role those men wanted from him was always predetermined; whether due to his imposing physique or his rugged face, everyone seemed to take Gyuhan for a top. Come to think of it, Go Woonha had been the only one who claimed position didn’t matter.

Recalling that promiscuous man, Gyuhan tossed a handful of sweet potato chips into his mouth.

—“Top? No? Then I’ll top. It really doesn’t matter to me either way.”

A gentle smile, coupled with impeccable manners. Back then, he had no idea the bastard played around so filthily.

“Did you come out here because you miss your ex?”

Someone stepped up beside Gyuhan’s table.

Letting out a short sigh at the familiar voice, Gyuhan looked up, his gaze traveling from hands buried in pockets all the way to the man’s face. Perhaps because he was looking from below, it felt as though reaching that neat, compact head took far longer than usual. The face staring down at him was completely void of emotion, styled with hair much looser than usual. Gyuhan silently mouthed his friend’s name; had he given it voice, it would have emerged as an agonized groan—urgh.

Gong Jio.

The sole reason Gyuhan had attempted keeping a diary, and currently the biggest headache in his social circle.

Jio had hooked his usual sunglasses over his chest pocket. Even beneath the dim bar lights, his soft brown eyes were clearly visible. With such light pigmentation, they were particularly vulnerable to UV rays. Perhaps because both his name and his eyes were so pretty, Gyuhan had always harbored an instinctual belief that he needed to protect this guy.

Without asking, Jio pinched a sweet potato chip from Gyuhan’s plate and popped it into his mouth.

When Jio turned his head, his profile appeared remarkably delicate—a sharply chiseled, cold visage. His eyes were pretty, his name was pretty, and his facial lines were clean, yet the immediate impression was not just prettiness, but striking handsomeness. Gyuhan had witnessed and remembered every stage of how that face had matured from pure prettiness into its current, strikingly handsome state. If he possessed enough literary talent to describe it, he would have proudly chronicled Gong Jio’s growth rather than wasting time on a daily journal.

Bastard. He really is good looking.

Although Jio was the source of rare, deep contemplation for Gyuhan these days, Gyuhan harbored neither hatred nor resentment toward him. He merely smacked his lips sheepishly, offering a detached compliment. That did not mean he had ever felt sexual attraction toward Jio. Naturally, Jio would never view him that way either. They were longtime friends, bound by years of shared history…

At that moment, Jio shifted his gaze. Leaning heavily against the counter, his slouch radiated a deliberate insolence, exuding a delinquent air utterly unfitting his profession as an attorney.

“Why? Is your bottom hole aching now that you don’t have a guy around?”

Those foul words don’t suit him either.

Scowling fiercely, Gyuhan clicked his tongue. “Damn it, why do you always have to phrase things so viciously? And nobody’s aching. I told you, he wasn’t my boyfriend.”

“You were making such a serious face,” Jio countered smoothly, “I figured you might still miss his body, even if he wasn’t your lover.”

“Why the hell would I miss another guy’s body? A hard body like that, I could see plenty just going to a public bathhouse.”

“So you plan to hit the sauna, find someone who looks decent, and drag just any body back to bed again?”

“Hey. That’s crossing the line. Go Woonha wasn’t just anyone to that extent. I don’t sleep around with random people.”

Gyuhan answered with a heavy sigh. He had no desire to fight with Gong Jio over something like this. He had never imagined they would quarrel over such a matter in the first place, and he felt a little wronged. When had he ever liked men and slept with just anyone? Even with Go Woonha, he had examined and weighed things in his own way before choosing. In fact, he had weighed things quite thoroughly. After all, sleeping with a man was far from a simple sexual act for him.

Yet wondering how Jio interpreted that sigh, Jio sneered, his tone nearly flat, but Gyuhan could sense the underlying sarcasm scraping like raw metal against an iron plate.

“Then should I go find him for you again? Go Woonha or whatever, who wasn’t just anyone. If I hang him from a crane like last time, I bet he’ll love it. Want me to do it?”

Right. That was the starting point of this entire mess. I shouldn’t have called Gong Jio back then. I should have just handled it myself.

Upon discovering that his crazy ex-partner was dating his younger brother, Gyuhan had grown so furious that he threatened to hang him from a crane and dunk him in seawater. But then Woonha’s eyes had actually lit up, begging Gyuhan to please do it. Rendered speechless by utter bullshit that no sober man could tolerate, Gyuhan had downed one drink after another, and by the time he came to his senses, they were at an Incheon port warehouse.

That had been the blunder. He had gotten thoroughly entangled in the wrong mess. Calling Gong Jio just because he held a special heavy-equipment license—didn’t that put a crack in an unbreakable, lifelong brotherhood between grown men? Gyuhan pressed his palm to his forehead and let out a deep sigh.

“Hey. Things ended with him quite a while ago. In the first place, we were done way before I hung him on that crane! Ah, fuck it, I hate using mushy words like ‘relationship’ or whatever. We just matched needs and took what we each required. Nothing mushy, huh? Cum, pull out. Done.”

Insisting they weren’t some subtle ‘this and that’ relationship but two matching puzzle pieces, Gyuhan made an O-shape with one hand and thrust his middle finger into it with the other. Jio watched the crude gesture with narrowed eyes, then let out a scoffing smirk.

“So why the fuck do that with a guy?”

“That’s because I… No, hey. I don’t know why I have to explain this to you. No matter how close friends are, aren’t there private boundaries you shouldn’t cross? This is an invasion of privacy.”

“Invasion?”

Did I use the wrong word?

Gyuhan glanced cautiously at him, wondering if he had butchered the vocabulary.

“You actually know the word ‘invasion’?”

Nailed it.

Gyuhan swelled with private pride over having used the correct word.

His pride was impossible to conceal and spilled all over his face. Witnessing that right in front of him, Gong Jio’s expression froze cold.

“You have the exact face of someone who knows I’m throwing a fit, but hasn’t got a single clue why.”

Spot on.

Gyuhan couldn’t fathom why Gong Jio was pitching such a fit in the first place. Jio had even told him to stop with the ‘friend, friend, that damn friend’ talk, asking if they were shooting a nineties mobster flick in the 2020s.

Those words had dealt Gyuhan no small shock. What was wrong with nineties gangster movies? Loyalty, honor, friendship. Thick emotional bonds, steaming warmth like a piping-hot bowl of gukbap. Wasn’t that hot, nourishing romance precisely what modern people lacked?

Right. Gyuhan dreamed of that kind of bond with Gong Jio. Understanding each other with just a look, and if one ever deceived the other, it had to be a noble lie for the friend’s sake. Wasn’t his sleeping with men that kind of lie? In fact, it wasn’t even a lie; he simply hadn’t bothered to bring it up. Although he loved nineties mob films, he didn’t believe bed habits needed to be shared. Holding the personal value that he wouldn’t even share talk of a lover (not that he had one) with a friend, Gyuhan found it neither enjoyable to discuss this topic nor fight with Gong Jio over it.

Therefore, Gyuhan could not understand Jio’s outburst. Frankly, it wasn’t like Gong Jio at all.

Still, keeping it a secret that a friend might sleep with the same sex could be upsetting… so he decided to yield a step.

“Hey. I’m sorry for not telling you beforehand. I know it must have been a shock. But there’s a reason for everything. As you know, I have a life goal, and I’ve been living my entire life for it. That was just an efficient method. And honestly, no matter how close we are as friends, yeah, man. It’s a bit embarrassing, but let me speak frankly this time.”

Gyuhan thought Gong Jio might even be slightly touched by his confession. Buoyed by that conviction, yet facing the awkwardness of uttering such mushy sentiments, he couldn’t look Jio in the eye. It was genuinely embarrassing.

“I consider you my friend for life. Wife, missus, better half, and friendship. When you say friendship, that means Gong Jio. To me, all of these are equally important.”

In truth, ‘wife’, ‘missus’, and ‘better half’ were just different words referring to the exact same person, making Gyuhan’s examples sorely lacking. But for Gyuhan, whose life center wasn’t money, wealth, or fame, he lacked both deep philosophical contemplation and the vocabulary to come up with another comparison on the spot.

“You’re that important of a life companion to me. But there are things to say and things best left unsaid, and I thought my bedroom affairs fell into the latter. To me, that was just like exercise. Exercise.”

Aren’t I explaining this brilliantly right now?

Gyuhan was inwardly amazed, wondering if the diary’s benefits were already manifesting.

“So try to understand a bit. I don’t feel good fighting with you for days over something like this either. We’re going to get along great as friends in the future, too…”

Carried by such pride and expecting Jio’s touched, appreciative gaze, Gyuhan lifted his head… only to face an expression completely contrary to his imagination, rendering him instantly speechless.

With one corner of his mouth twisted up in a sharp sneer, Gong Jio was staring down at him with frigid eyes. It was a gaze like icy fire.

“Friend?”

Jio echoed the word. His tone was so flat and calm that it was downright terrifying.

“You list wife, missus, better half, and then put ‘friend’ right beside them? Why the hell are those ranked together?”

“Hey, it means you’re that important.”

“Really? But you don’t even have a wife.”

“Even if I don’t, you know how important and precious that is to me.”

“I don’t know shit.”

“Eh? Why wouldn’t you know? How many times have I told you…”

“I’m saying I don’t fucking get it when you compare me to someone who doesn’t even exist.”

At that chilling retort, Gyuhan was slightly hurt, feeling as if a cold draft blew through his chest. Rubbing at his chest vigorously as if applying antiseptic ointment, Gyuhan mumbled while looking up at Jio, who remained standing over him.

“Hey. When you say it like that, it really hurts.”

“Hurts, does it…?”

Muttering into empty air as if exhaling smoke, Jio dropped his gaze back down to Gyuhan. Jio’s eyes, which lacked light even on ordinary days, looked particularly unsettling today, resembling the glassy eyes of a doll.

“You don’t have a wife, so maybe you need to lose your friend too before you stop feeling hurt and start feeling like pure shit.”

“Huh? Hey. What does that mean? Am I misunderstanding you? Did I almost misunderstand? You shouldn’t say things like that lightly. You don’t mean that, right?”

Jio swept a cold, detached gaze down over Gyuhan, who had bolted to his feet to ask.

“You shouldn’t toss words like that around carelessly,” Gyuhan pressed. “You really need to think before you speak. I hate throwing our relationship around so casually. Our friendship isn’t some cheap thing.”

And that cold gaze of Jio’s soon shifted into sheer irritation.

“What if I don’t want to? Do I still have to be friends? With you?”

Repeatedly wounded, Gyuhan’s eyes wavered. Shifting his gaze here and there, he barely managed to mumble hesitantly, “St-Still, I want to hang out with you…”

He thought he heard a muttered, Are you fucking kidding me? When Gyuhan lifted his head again, Gong Jio was slowly grinding his molars, the muscles along his jaw flexing and relaxing in turn. As their eyes met, Jio knitted his brows and curved his eyes—attempting something resembling a smile. Then, in a low, grating voice, he asked, “Hanging out together… how about we do it as lovers? Huh? Then I think I could do it. How about that, Cha Gyuhan?”

The gentleness of his tone made Gyuhan flinch all the more.

“Or even fuck buddies works for me. Why can’t you do with me what you did with a nobody like Go Woonha? That bastard was a nobody, right? You said so. But am I just a nobody, Cha Gyuhan?”

At those words, Gyuhan recoiled half a step before shaking his head. Then, in a solemn, heavy voice, he spoke, “No, Jio-ya. That’s not the issue. How can guys date each other? I don’t care if others do it, but I can’t, Jio-ya. You’re fucking furious, I get it. Still, I don’t think jokes like that are right.”

Not knowing how to soothe his anger, Gyuhan felt not only troubled and cornered, but his heart genuinely ached.

A moment later, in front of the despondent Gyuhan, Gong Jio turned around cold. Gyuhan scrambled after him as he strode away, hastily catching his wrist and asking, “Hey, you came all the way here to see me, where are you going?”

“Why would I come here for you? Isn’t it just a coincidence that you happened to be here?”

Of course, we didn’t make plans, so it could be a coincidence…

Still having no idea what this bar was famous for, Gyuhan simply stared blankly at Gong Jio.

“Still, since we ran into each other, let’s have a drink together…”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re off work, so why? Where do you have to go?”

“Yeah. I’m going to take care of my sex drive. Just like you—shaking and cumming for exercise.”

Jio spat the words out flatly and coldly. With a single yank, he tore his wrist from Gyuhan’s grip and walked up to someone sitting at a nearby table. It was a man, and the moment Jio approached, he beamed brightly.

Gyuhan stood frozen, staring blankly as Gong Jio disappeared with that man. Only after they had completely vanished did he cry out in shock, “He’s leaving with a guy?!”

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